Final Destination: Silent Ripple
by Zachary J. Palmer
Summary: Mark Rogers plans to take revenge on the classmates who torment him… but a new teacher convinces him that it‘s not worth it. But Death is coming, to take the lives of those who should have died. Only Mark knows what’s going on… can he stop it?
1. A Word from the Author

NOTE: IF YOU WANT TO GET STRAIGHT TO THE STORY, SKIP THIS CHAPTER... OTHERWISE, READ ON! Possible spoilers... but it's kind of fun.

REVIEW THIS. Come on, it's really not that hard! Besides, it'll up your review count, which looks good for a person.

January Update

Wow? Has it REALLY been a year? Yes, it has. But, as I said, I refuse to let this die. I've revamped the last chapter I did… it was weak. It was clear that, yeah, facing writing problems. So, it's better now. And I have retooled the death… it works a lot better, and is significantly more believable.

So, how much more of this is to come? Well, two or three chapters, and an epilogue.

Hopefully, I'll get those done before another year passes. I'm going to try to get the next chapter done within the month. Hell, I may even start working on the later chapters… I think I feel better about those than I do this one.

Oh, and, by the way, I'll give you a preview of my next work. That's the one where I posted a very rough first chapter before… the reason for this is, I need a title, and there are two possible. Please leave your vote in a review (and, please, review too, don't just give that vote).

'A young girl sits in a small room. She is one of a twelve member jury. They face the trial of a mob boss who has been accused of murdering his wife. The evidence is clear- he's innocent. Yes, he's a murderer, certainly has caused the deaths of countless people, and he deserves to die. But, he did not kill his wife- he HAS been framed. The girl votes with a sense of justice- he is innocent of the crime of which he is being tried, and is, therefore, "NOT GUILTY." No one else agrees. The jury, not having reached a verdict, is sequestered that night at a hotel.

But the mob boss wants to be sure he gets a jury that will gladly vote him innocent. That night, in their hotel, all the jury members are poisoned. The young girl, not feeling hungry, survives. When the "bellhop," arrives to take her dishes, and finds her alive, he produces a gun, and finishes the last member. She falls to her bed, and stops breathing.

She takes a deep, sudden breath in. Everyone at the table is looking at her. She apologizes, then looks down at the slip of paper in front of her. With her pencil, she violently crosses out the word "NOT," and hands in the slip. The jury has reached a verdict. Sentencing will happened at a later date. She leaves the courthouse, gets in her car, and drives six hours straight to her parents house.

A year later, three jury members have died under mysterious circumstances. The girl continues to live at her parents house, for fear that the mob is still after them. But when one jury member dies on TV, through a series of events so strange that she cannot possibly rationalize it as being caused by any humans, she realizes something more is going on. She returns to her city, and the bodies pile up faster. Can she survive?'

I have some VERY interesting ideas for this particular story… something quite original, even. But I have to work out the logic of it. So, what should the title be? DEADLOCKED, or HUNG JURY?

Oh, and as a final note, my story WILL tie in with the movies… yup…

x-x-x

December Update

When I started these notes, it said "October update." But, I WON'T let this story meet the grim reaper. In the garbled digitized voice of Zeus, "Rise from your grave!"

Remember when I said updates would be slow? This is what I meant. Most of this chapter was churned out in a short period of time, so the quality won't be as great, but I wanted to give people SOMETHING.

So, for those who have been very dedicated to my story, I hope you enjoyed the present I left you back in September. That will be the next of my final destination fanfics (well, other than my Kolchak: The Night Stalker/FD spin, but that's more a Kolchak thing...), currently entitled, Final Destination: Deadlocked. And, of course, it will employ something very different to keep it fresh... something that, so far, has not been seen in any FD story that I'm aware of... but, remember, it's a long time coming.

Speaking of which, I've become more aware of the FD stories. Someone on Wikipedia has been so kind as to list the deaths... and I'll talk about them now.

They have quite a range... the rather interesting and well thought up (crushing by bathtub, live boiling) to the completely absurd (DVDs fired from DVD players at insanely high speeds, impaling someone, and a person knocked by a firehose blast into a gazelle pen and onto the horns of one of the animals).

Most of them manage to bring about some new and interesting ideas into the fold... unfortunately crushing one of the ideas I had (FD in Victorian England... still might do it, though...) and loosening up another, which I was thinking about abandoning altogether anyway. Oh, did I just suggest something about this current story? Whoops!

Unfortunately, two of them end with absolutely NO hope. I hate that. You can do it the first time, but after that, there HAS to be a possibility for some sort of safety, otherwise, it's just the ending to FD1 again. More so, one is so particulalry morbid and depressing, you'll wonder, "What was the point of reading that." I can't stress this enough; if there is zero chance for the survivors from the very beginning, why write it? You already know the ending!

Well, that's not true... you can end on an interesting note... I believe you just need to give people SOME reason to arrive at the end. And, I'm sorry, but ending on "The last person is going to die, that's it," just doesn't work.

-x-x-x-

August 28th Update

Thanks for the reviews guys! The more, the merrier. And, just so that it be known... I am working on another Final Destination fanfic... it's a crossover with another series I love, and it's intended to be sort of a quick, fun read (not too long, nothing too new, nothing too creative, etc.). So, we'll see when that happens... I might do it before I finish off this one, though, to garner more interest (yeah, I can be an attention whore, admitedly).

So, I promised to talk about what I think about the Final Destination series theories on death and such. Let's begin. And, for understanding, a "survivor," is someone who escapes a plan of death's, and when I say "see a sign," that includes premonitions. This WILL be very confusing.

-Failed Deaths- NO. NO NO NO. It's one thing to lead a person into believing that someone is going to die. It's another thing entirely to have death fail to kill someone without the intervention of someone who shouldn't have been there... and, of course, they have to recognize a sign in order to do it. Death's plan is written out, and it happens as such. I understand that they're necessary to some extent, for tension, but I disagree with them.

Tim's death is one major problem here. He SHOULD have died in the dentist's office. Unless the assistant was a survivor ... but she would have had to escape death after Tim escaped death (as Tim's plan would be rewritten not to include her... then, unexpectedly, she's there). If she saw a sign, that could work too, but she wasn't freaked out, so she didn't.

So, I don't do those. However... some people just put themselves in danger. As such, I don't have any failed deaths in my story... but I WILL mislead you. However, if they don't end up dying, it wasn't going to happen that way at all.

-Survival of Death- This is important. This MUST be available. If it's not, what's the point of the stories? They're going to die gruesome deaths soon, and that's it. FD only seemed to offer an escape, but didn't, but as it was the first, that's okay. But, it can't be like that every time.

For this reason, however, the death's of Officer Burke and Kimberley post FD2 I do NOT view as Canon. They will die, but to make it be in such an odd way, at almost the same time, seems more like revenge on the part of death, not "natural," death. An escape, a long lasting one (or even a short one, but with a more reasonable death) is necessary. Without hope for a happy ending, why read it? After all, you know what's going to happen.

I do include death and resuscitation as a means of escaping death. Whether or not child birth counts... I don't know. Without a doubt, if a woman becomes pregnant post-survival, she's freed (and not temporarily, like in the original script ending of FD... again, we need that hope). However, if she's already pregnant... I guess I can look at it either way. I do believe, though, that if a woman becomes pregnant post survival, other survivors who were to die before her are NOT safe... least, not unless their turns are skipped, and she breaks the chain.

And, of course, were she pregnant beforehand, this would count the same way.

-Extreme Intervention by Death- Water, anyone? Seriously, the one REALLY sucky part of FD was the water. Death not only killed someone VERY intentionally (water doesn't flow like that), but then, it covered up its actions. No. No no no. If death can somehow make something happen to cover things up, that's one thing (such as the dodgeball in my story... it's bounced out by other balls). But to totally cover things up with no explicable natural explanation... no.

So, those are the rules I play by. I also have made up some rules of my own that are not otherwise affected by the movies... and, if I write the next FD fanfic I want to, I will break those rules immediately (but since these stories are officially not canon, I can do that!)

So, until next time!

And KEEP REVIEWING! Remember, you can review multiple chapters!

-x-x-x-

August 8th Update

I'll take this moment to talk about the movies, and what I think abou them, as I said I would. I'll also talk about the one book which I've managed to get my hands on and read (which, by the way, I read in one night... I can be like that with some books).

So, FD1. I love it. Plain and simple. Great movie, great idea, totally original... can't really argue with anything in it. That's the easy one. Well, actually, I have one big argument... I'll discuss that next time.

FD2... well, it's much of the same. However, we get a great opening death sequence, and a lot of really cool deaths after that... and those deaths follow a logical progression. There's a reason they go everywhere they go to end up dying, which I like. I mean, a specific reason. Also, we care about the characters... but they're a team, which is one of the main reasons why we can care. After all, if they all ambivalent, why should we care? After all, they don't even care about their own lives, really. But, these people know what's going on, and worry, and as such, we want them to live. Best of all, they found a way to escape death... rather than it just begin some inevitable death.

Which, I shall mention, is why I HATE what FD3 would have done with FD2, regarding the deaths of the two surviving characters... for the purposes of my writing, I will consider the "newspaper article," in the FD3 DVD to be a farce. If there's no way to escape death, then why even read the story? After all, everyone's just going to die, without fufilling any actual purpose... not that they HAVE to have survivors, but there needs to be a way out. FD1 offered some sort of hope... FD2 offered real hope, and possibility. FD3 looked to piss it away.

Which brings me to FD3. I hate FD3. I will buy the DVD triology, particulalry for the "choose your destination," feature. However, I hate FD3. I'll talk about what I liked first. We get a good sisterly relationship, a good idea for the initial death, and the camera angle is new. And some coolish deaths. That's it.

So, what don't I like? First off, I don't care about ANY character other than Wendy and her sister... and Erin to an extent, but that's because she was so cute. Yup, Kevin can go die for all I care. The reason for this is the fact that characters seem much more incidental... they show up in the beginning, so we know they're there. Then, they appear when they die. They don't appear up until that point. After the funeral of the two girls, did any of the characters (save the last 3) appear again until they died? Not that I recall. Worse, we lose the team aspect... the team aspect I view as the fuel for the series. You have to have people working together against death, because, alone, they are picked off easily. Plus, when they work together, we get to see their good sides.

Next, we have the movement within the plot... let's go here, and see someone die, then go here, and see someone die, then go here, and see someone die, then go here, and see someone die, then go here, and we have our big conclusion... The fact that we don't see the characters for so long makes this more ridiculous. It's a scavenger hunt to witness the deaths, and that's all. FD2 took us to many places, but there was always a reason why... here it's just so we can watch people die. So, that's just really dumb.

And then the deaths... cool, yes. Ridiculous. Absolutely! Now, hear me out, before you go "well, it's supposed to be fiction." Think about the teacher's death in FD1... very drawn out, very rube goldberian... but, didn't it seem like it could happen... like everything made sense together... like it was possible? I thought so. That's called suspension of disbelief... and FD1 and 2 were very good at it. FD3 just fails. I mean, the build-it store death... no. Just no. The weight room death wasn't too bad, if not for the bear claw thing. The others vary... I don't want to discuss them all. But, they're too extreme, they're just jokes. Complexity makes the deaths fun, but when it's too extreme, it's just dumb.

And, finally, to talk about Final Destination: Dead Reckoning. First, it doesn't do anything new... but it's a fun read. It plays by the rules, offers some interesting deaths (and some failed attempts at playing "who's gonna die next," if you've seen the movies and know the rules) and the characters are pretty well developed. I felt very bad about Ben... :-( Oh well. He reminded me of a friend of mine. The happy ending is fine, and it offers a little bit of a new rule... I encourage you all to read it. It's fun. And it's better than Final Destination 3.

Next time I'll talk about how the rules of death play out among the movies and the book, and how I interpret them. Should be interesting.

x-x-x

July 11th Update

Again, almost double the size! Yay! Much more character development! Yay! And the deaths are just as gory! Yay!

Ah, the next chapter, and my favorite death of all... in fact, this really inspired me to start working on this story again. In fact, let me take a moment to talk about the origins of this story.

Back in the day, shortly after FD2, there was talk about FD3 being a parody (I practically consider it to be... I'll talk of that another time). I was moritified, and decided to start plotting out a new Final Destination... so, how do I do it? What should happen? Well, obviously, the third film needs something new, something different... then it hit me: A school shooting. Not some big disaster, but, instead, a mass murder, but one that is prevented. From the beginning it was decided that the shooter was also the main character. However, originally, the idea was that one of the FD2 survivors, or Clear (pre-Alex's death) would give a motivational speech on living life and such, and that was the thing to cause the change... but eventually, I decided against it. Deciding to kill your peers is BIG... a motivational speech to make you not do that? Probably not...

There's an urban legend about a class project simliar to the one that occurs... in fact, it happened. This, however, was the basis for the change. But, to make it even deeper, I decided to give the main character and his teacher a connection. Hence the clinic backstory.

And that's basically what the story was. As said, when I came up with this death, that's what inspired me to start writing again.

Next time, I'll talk about what I think of the movies, and one of the books.

Till then!

x-x-x

July 3rd Update- This chapter sure has come fast... don't expect if of the others, especially the next. I was pretty satisfied with this chapter. The next one will need much more work. As I said originally, updating will come very slowly. Also, updated chapter 1 a bit... just a bit...

Also, a quick note about reviews: Reviews are based on the chapter you give them on. If you want to focus your review on a chapter, please, do it for that chapter. If you want to give an overall review, please, do it for this chapter. And, if you want to review every chapter and the story individually... go ahead! I certainly don't mind. Thanks for your support!

And, a quick note to one reviewer: If I knew gymnastics, I would include a gymnastics death. But, I don't. I DO, however, know dance, and have been planning from the beginning to include a dance related death. Boring, you might be thinking... Trust me, not so :-)

x-x-x

July 1st Update- So, I've gone through, made plenty of changes, and will continue to do so.

Just to give you an idea of the breadth of these changes, the first chapter is almost twice it's original size. Also, originally, I intended to standardize the length of each chapter. No longer. Instead, chapters will be however long as they are... so, they'll probably all be longer. I hope you enjoy. This will be completed!

Also, keep in touch with this initial chapter here... I will update it to update you all about what's going on. I'll may also use it to discuss the process of writing this story.

PS- Please, read and review, but remember; reviews are based on chapters. If you want to review a specific chapter, post it in that chapter (and I encourage you to do so). If you want to review the story as a whole, post it to this intial update chapter. Thanks much!


	2. Prologue

PROLOGUE

The first shot was a warning. A bullet pierced a student's temple, crashing through brain tissue, shredding it. Everyone just stared, wide-eyed. He stood there, the semi-automatic handgun poised and ready. Disbelief quickly set in, in the situation, in the person committing the atrocity, in the possibility that such a normal day could be shattered like the glass of the window the bullet exited through.

For a split second, there was silence. Most just sat there, still trying to comprehend what was happening. A few took the initiative, jumping from their seats. Someone screamed. This was the signal. Others screamed, shouted, finally began to move, hurriedly running any way they could. Then a second shot rang out. And a third. Again and again he fired. With each blast, another person fell to the ground, taking others with him or her as people tripped over the bodies. When his clip emptied, he released it, grabbed another from his pocket, and reloaded.

He walked slowly towards them. He made no real attempt to aim, there was no need. A wall of people, students scrambling back and forth, was before him. Exits surrounded them, but trying to find one in the mob was difficult. Panic quickly took over. His job was easy.

After enough gunfire and screaming and running, the cafeteria quieted down. An intricate lattice-work made up of streams of blood spread across the black and white faux marble floor. There were bodies strewn about. Most were dead, a few were still trying to hold on. He stepped over them as he made his way toward the back, to see if he had missed anyone.

He heard sniffling, and turned. A girl had her back planted up against a wall, next to a vending machine. When he came into her view, she sucked in air. Tears streamed from her eyes. He smiled at her.

He raised the gun, and pulled the trigger. The girl jerked and collapsed suddenly. The cafeteria was now empty. He was the last one left.

He turned the gun towards himself, and fired the last bullet.

Mark Rogers' alarm blared, waking him up.

His breathing was short, shallow, and rapid. After a few deep breaths, he managed to calm down. Everything felt so real... it was as though he knew that was how it was going to happen. He saw it clearly: today, at school, they were all going to die.

He smiled.

He hoped things would go that perfectly.


	3. Chapter 1 Interruption

CHAPTER 1

INTERRUPTION

* * *

Mark slammed the car door shut. Dozens of parking spaces were available, but he parked far towards the back of the lot. This was typical of someone of his low social status. Today, however, it served a dual purpose; parked so far to the back, it was less likely that anyone would notice what lay in the back of the car. He looked through the window, stared at the large brown duffel back stashed away on the floor behind the passenger seat. Part of him wanted to grab it now, to have his revenge... another part of him knew to wait, instead, for lunch time, when they would all be sitting together and unaware.

Part of him wasn't sure.

He turned and began the trek through the parking lot towards to school, an empty backpack slung over his shoulder. In the distance, someone shouted something nasty about him. He never heard it. His mind was focused on what he was going to do later, how exactly he would go about it all. He was so focused that he didn't even notice the sports car rapidly approaching him.

The screech of tires caused him to jump back a bit, landing on his butt. He huffed, pulled himself up, and looked through the windshield that stood less than three yards from him. Seated in front of the steering wheel was Eric Bowman, captain of the football team. Until recently, the Lincoln High School football team had been one of the worst in the state. When the previous captain got in a drunk driving accident the previous season, Eric, then a junior, took over.

From then on, the team excelled rapidly, and if not for a horrendous early season, would have gone on to the state championships. This year they were hoping things would be different. Mark didn't care about any of that, he just stared at the people inside. Mark recognized all of them; Eric, Doug Mulder, Barry Wiley, and Eric's girlfriend, Leslie Chalmers. Football players and a cheerleader, so stereotypical. Everyone was laughing except Eric, who rolled down his window and leaned his head out.

"Hey faggot, watch where you're going. You could've dented my car." He smiled at Mark snidely.

Normally Mark would have said something back. Instead, he just turned, walked away, and thought: _You're second, asshole_.

_You and all of your friends are going down_ .

Eric turned down into one of the aisles. Another car pulled out from the side. Eric slammed on his brakes, causing the small, plastic football dangling from the front mirror to pull off, comically smacking him in the forehead. Eric honked the horn and yelled obscenities out the window. The other driver did the same. Leslie, who was putting on her lipstick, lurched forward a bit with no seat belt to hold her back. She looked up into the mirror and saw that she had smudged the layer on her upper lip.

"Damn dude, you almost gave me a heart attack." Barry growled.

Leslie punched Eric in the arm. "You shithead, watch where you're going," she yelled.

He had finished his argument with the other car, and turned to deal with her. "Baby, don't worry, it's all good. The car's fine."

"That's the second time this morning."

"No, this was a mistake, the first time was intentional. Just wanted to freak freako out."

"You should have just rolled over the bastard," Barry interjected, deadpan. "Fuckin' emo kids like that, they don't care if they die, we should just kill 'em all anyway."

Doug laughed, the high-pitched chortles eerily similar to that of a hyena. Leslie turned around and looked at Barry in mild disgust. "Shut up. That's really messed up, you know? You shouldn't sound so serious when you say it."

"I _am_ serious. I hate that fucker, every time I see him, I..."

"Calm down, man," Eric interrupted. "He's just a little bitch. Fuck him. We gotta focus. We have a game tomorrow night."

"Yeah... right, you're right."

Eric lifted up his sunglasses, as he pulled into a parking space. He looked at Leslie, and nodded his head to the side, as if to say "Hey look, we got here in one piece." She turned away, rolled her eyes, and started to put her makeup away. He slid his hand down to her thigh. She noticed, and pushed it away.

"Knock it off, let's go, or we'll be late."

She opened the door, and moved out. Under his breath, Eric muttered, "Bitch." She didn't hear it. Doug chuckled. Barry just looked pissed off. As soon as she exited the car, Leslie grabbed her books close to her chest. She shivered. She had wanted to show off the new shirt she had bought; it was the first non-thrift store item she'd purchased since the previous Christmas. Eric came up close and wrapped his arms around her.

"Do I look okay?" She asked.

"You look fine, honey." He kissed her.

Doug interrupted the moment. "Except for those bags under your eyes."

"I had to work late," she shot back.

"Doesn't mean they're not there." Doug laughed hard at his joke. No one else laughed. Eric punched him, hard, in the back.

* * *

Mark again heard tires screeching, followed by cursing and honking. He smiled, and hurried on, crossing from the parking area into the lot where the buses unloaded. Students flooded out onto the sidewalk, chatting with each other, completely unaware of the horror to come. Mark briefly contemplated the surrealism of it; when they woke up this morning, not a single one thought, "Today is the day I am going to die."

Again, his preoccupation with his plans got the better of him, as the curb caught his shoe. For the second time that morning, he came crashing down, this time on his stomach. His wrists caught the granite walkway, scraping along. His book bag landed a foot ahead. He breathed in deeply, grudging the pain. Jenna Parks, drum major for the marching band, and her boyfriend, John Massey, passed by, laughing at him.

"Have a nice trip?" John asked.

The joke was ancient, but Jenna laughed anyway. She was probably high, as was John, who was carrying a bottle of water with him after a long night of binge drinking. She kept laughing, while John attempted to take a sip from the bottle. He started to laugh again, and choked on the water, spitting it out. The two of them laughed harder, and moved on. He stared at them, as they only made it a few feet further before tripping themselves.

"I broke a nail!" He could hear Jenna whine.

_Idiots_. Mark glowered, and reached for his book bag. Suddenly, an open hand appeared in front of him. He looked up, and scowled.

Mark muttered, "Leave me alone, Tom."

"Look, Mark, I'm real sorry about what happened…" Tom offered.

"I don't give a fuck."

"Please Mark… I had to tell them. I was really afraid you might kill yourself." Tom lifted the book bag off the ground. He paused, noticing how light it was.

"Well you know what, I'm not going to, okay? Now get away. Now."

Mark grabbed the book bag from him. In doing so, the stack of papers and books that Tom carried in his other arm fell. Mark walked away as Tom knelt down to being picking them up. He was annoyed that, even now, Tom was still trying to act nice to him. A few months earlier, he had gotten drunk while hanging out with Tom one night. In his stupor, he mentioned something about committing suicide. He didn't really remember what he said. Tom, who had never been drunk, took the comment seriously, and informed Mark's parents. They immediately sent him to a private clinic for treatment and suicide watch.

When he got back to school, everyone knew where he'd been; whenever someone went to the clinic, everyone knew somehow. He'd always been an outcast, but his tormentors seem to be crueler than before, and everyone pegged him as crazy. Mark suspected it was Tom who informed everyone where he'd disappeared to for those few months. His best friend. His only friend. His betrayer. That's why he was number one, like Judas, the greatest sinner in The Inferno, head first in Satan's central mouth, the demon's teeth crushing his neck.

The bell rang. Mark started up to run, but then realized he had no reason to.

* * *

"Excuse me." Christina Argento practically spat the words.

Mark blinked at her.

"Your legs are in my way."

As she spoke, she looked downward. He had been sitting, turned to the side, with his back up against the armrest, legs resting in the aisle. He looked down as well, looked back up at her, and pulled them back in, underneath the chair. She walked past, and sat down a few seats back. She sat down, and removed her compact from her purse. She began to study her favorite subject; herself.

"Hey, don't get him angry... he might go psycho on you." Sean Walker smiled as he said it. Christina chuckled, along with some others.

Sean moved towards his desk, smiling, and opened his binder. He pulled out a folder, and sorted through his various papers. He flipped through, and soon found the previous day's test; a 96. He'd have to talk to Mr. Dix about it later, try to get it changed, so it wouldn't hurt his chances of being valedictorian. Satisfied that he had what he needed, he slipped the binder under the desk, into the metal caging below. Suddenly, a screw popped out, and the caging fell open, hitting the back of his ankle.

The caging was made out of cheap metal. He barely even felt it. But it made a clatter. Christina yelped, and dropped her mirror, breaking it. Someone laughed. She picked it up, shut it, and thrust it back in her perosn. Sean, meanwhile, pulled the binder up onto his desk. _Stupid shoddy school equipment... whole place is falling apart_. He caught Mark staring at him. For a second, Sean felt like making a scene, but then decided against it. The guy wasn't that bad... just a little weird. Sean flipped him the bird, causing Mark to turn around.

Mark set himself back to concentrating on how everything would go. It needed to be perfect. Nothing could go wrong. His mind began to process the graphic details of it all; blood splattering everywhere, gaping holes torn through the bodies of his fellow classmates, limbs hanging awkwardly popped from their joint as other students tried to get out, crunching the bones of those already on the ground, some not quite dead... His stomach clenched slightly. His arm twitched. He shook the feeling. The bell rang; passing time was over. Oddly enough, though, the chair behind the teacher's desk was empty.

"Wow, Mr. Dix is late for the first time ever," someone commented in the back.

The door opened, and a tall, younger woman, stepped in. Mark saw her, and swallowed hard. Their eyes met immediately. He looked away. She just smiled.

"Good morning. I'm Ms. Kennedy, and I'll be taking over for Mr. Dix for the rest of the semester."

A student raised his hand. "What happened to Mr. Dix?"

"He's been transferred to another district."

"Four weeks into the school year?" Another student wondered aloud.

"I was told that they had trouble finding someone willing to transfer to that particular school... anyway, I'll tell you a little bit about myself..."

Mark still wasn't paying attention to what was being said, but this time, for a different reason; he recognized her. And, presumably, she recognized him. Krista Kennedy. She had worked at the clinic as a psychoanalyst while he was there. They had many therapy sessions together, but unlike his other doctors, she treated him like a person, not a patient. She also seemed to know that he wasn't really suicidal, that he didn't belong there. When he was released early, she made certain to be there to say goodbye to him. He always suspected that his early released was based on recommendations from her.

Now she was here, teaching his class. He silently begged that she would pretend not to know him.

"Where did you work before this?" She had opened the floor to questions.

_Why the Hell did you ask that?_ Mark thought.

Krista's eyes caught Mark's for a second. His widened. She smiled.

"I worked at a school in Rochester, but the commute was really long. This is much closer to home."

Mark smiled. _But... wait, why does it matter? It's not like they're going to be around much longer to care... nor will I..._

Krista moved behind the lectern and opened up a notebook. "Now, according to the notes left by Mr. Dix, all of you had homework to do, right?" There was a collective groan from the class. "We can get to that tomorrow. First thing's first. Everyone, take out a sheet of paper and write your name at the top." Amidst the relief felt by the students was confusion for what was coming next. When the first step was complete, she continued her instruction, "I want to get to know all of you and what great people you are, so here's what you'll do: pass your paper to the person behind you. If you're at the end of a row, you're going to have to get up and walk it to the person in front."

There was even more confusion, but everyone complied.

"Now, look at the name on the top of the paper. Think about that person for a second. Then, write something nice about him or her. And take a second to think about it, make it meaningful; everyone has something good about them."

A few people chuckled, but they all went about writing. Mark looked at the paper in front of him. _Sean Walker_ it read at the top. He thought about it, then scribbled; _Sean always gets really good grades. He's very smart._

"Okay, finished? Now, pass them again."

Mark struggled on a few of the names, but managed to write something about everyone. _Jenna Parks... she always speaks her mind. Leslie Chalmers... working a full time job while still going to school takes a lot of strength. John Massey... he loves to make people laugh. Doug Mulder... he's a better football player than Eric and Barry combined, and a better person._

The next paper came, and Mark paused. _Rachel Morgan_...

* * *

_Mark Rogers_. Rachel tried to think of just one thing to say about him. Cute, funny, smart, nice... there were plenty of things she could have said, but she didn't want to sound weird... the paper was probably going back to him, and he might be able to read her handwriting. She finally settled on, _People are really mean to him, but he doesn't deserve it, cause he's a really great guy_. She finished writing and, when instructed, passed the paper on.

* * *

Mark had never really thought about her before. She'd entered the school district at the beginning of the year, and in the two months she'd been there, they'd never spoken to each other even once. He wasn't even really sure if she were popular or not. She was a quiet girl... but also, pretty, in an unusual kind of way. He suddenly remembered the task at hand. He jotted down, _She's really nice_, and almost cringed at how generic the phrase was.

* * *

"So, now that you have your original paper, take a moment to read what's been written about you," announced Ms. Kennedy.

Mark looked at his sheet with some hesitation. There was, after all, the great possibility that someone (or everyone) had scrawled horrible things about him. He scanned it, but there was nothing. He looked again, this time almost trying to find something less than genuine. Aside from a few seemingly awkward statements, everything seemed true to what it said. Surprisingly, people had followed the instructions to a tee. As he read through them, he began to beam. _Mark is a nice guy... people give him more shit than he deserves... he may have been in the clinic, but he's here now, so there's nothing wrong with him, I think... he tries to be nice to everyone even if they're mean to him... he always has his homework done... he gets better grades than me_. Mark caught himself smiling like he hadn't smiled in a long time.

The bell rang. The entire period had been spent on the one activity. But, for Mark at least, it was worth it.

"Hand your papers in as you leave, I'm going to read over them and return them to you tomorrow. And, for those who weren't ready today, last nights homework is due tomorrow. Everyone deserves a second chance."

The students quickly filed out, all a bit hesitant about giving up the papers they'd gotten, but they let them go. For once, Mark strayed to the back, taking his time, letting everyone get ahead of him. Quickly, he was along in the room with Ms. Kennedy.

As Mark placed the paper upon the stack, he told her, "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Mark." She replied. She said his name. She definitely remembered him. "Just remember what I told you."

"Yes, Krista." He smiled at her.

She smiled back.

He instantly recalled what it was that she'd said, and he contemplated it as he walked out of the room.

_Life is precious, more precious than anything. Nothing is worth taking that away. Nothing._

* * *

The duffel bag stared at Mark. Through the glass window, it looked so innocently. Even if anyone had seen it, they wouldn't have given it a second thought. Now, with the door open, and everything within his reach, it was much more sinister. When lunch began, he immediately came out to his car, as he'd planned. But, it seemed so much more difficult, when he thought it would be so easy. Just get revenge... by killing people. By taking someone's life... but they deserved it... he reached a shaky hand out towards the zipper.

Just then, the wind picked up. A few nearby leaves shuffled around. He looked out, and spied a small American flag hanging from an antenna, motionless. And yet, the leaves continued to dance, as though the wind was concentrated in this one area near him. Just then, the flag slid down the antenna, stopping at half-mast. Mark shivered.

He turned back to the bag. The zipper was open. He didn't recall having actually touched it. As if to entice him further, something in the bag shifted, pulling a side down, making the opening become wider. He could actually see what was inside now. He put his hand out, fingers reaching out to the cold metal.

_Nothing is worth taking that away._

_Nothing._

He snapped his hand away, as though the weapon tried to bite him. He put his hand back, grabbed the zipper, and pulled it roughly shut. After pushing the bad down onto the floor, and got out, slammed the door shut, and turned away, walking back to the school empty handed.

Out of his sight, a dark shadow rippled across the reflection in the windshield.


	4. Chapter 2 Primary

CHAPTER 2

PRIMARY

* * *

"Hey."

Tom looked up, and abruptly stopped chewing his sandwich. He swallow quickly, and smiled, albeit weakly.

"Hey Mark... what's up?" He was afraid of where the conversation might go.

"Can I sit here?"

Tom snorted, and smiled wider, more assuredly. "No, not at all!"

Mark set his tray down, and then sat down across from the other boy at the otherwise empty table. He began to pick away at his school bought lunch. Tom just stared at him. Mark noticed, and looked at him, furrowing his eyebrows.

"What?"

"I... it's just really great that... well, I mean, I guess..."

"Say it."

"Does this mean you wanna be friends again?"

"Just eat, alright?"

"Um, yeah, sure, that's fine."

Tom returned his gaze to his lunch. He occasionally glanced up at Mark, but Mark's focus was on the food. No, not the food, he was barely even touching it. Something else... Mark was thinking about something, eyes downcast, mouth tipped downwards. Tom was worried, but decided against asking questions; his best friend was back, that was what mattered most. By the time Tom finished his entire lunch, Mark still had barely made a dent in his own.

"So... I'm not really doing anything after school... what about you?"

"No plans."

"Maybe you'd wanna hang out?"

Mark was silent for a moment. "Sure," he finally managed.

"Cool! I just created a new fuel for my model rocket... it's kinda dangerous, but I think the results will be awesome!"

"Sounds great."

Mark smiled, and finally lifted his head to look at Tom. As the face flashed into view, his head filled with images. He thought of the gun in his hand, raising it, holding it right in front of that face. He imagined squeezing the trigger, the slug flying out, passing through a pane of eye glass, then through the eye. It exited out the back of his head, spraying crimson everywhere. Then it was just Tom smiling at him again.

Mark felt sick to his stomach.

He got up suddenly, jarring the table with his thigh as he did. He didn't notice the pain.

"Are you alright?" Tom asked, suddenly alarmed.

Mark nodded his head quickly, mumbling an affirmative as he turned and hurried away from the table. He could hear some people laughing at him as he rushed away, but he didn't care. The trip to the restroom was short, but he just barely made it into the stall in time. As he thrust his head downwards, shoving his hands to the floor to steady himself, he emptied the minimal content of his stomach into the water. Nausea swept over him again, and his stomach churned. This time, it was nothing more than dry heaving.

He squeezed his eyes, contorting the other features of his face. His breathing was quick, and rapid. How could he think of such a thing. It wasn't revenge, it was murder! What could there possibly be to make him want to do such a thing? _Nothing_, he realized. Just like Krista had said, nothing was worth that. He heaved again, and started to cough.

* * *

He got up suddenly, jarring the table with his thigh as he did. He didn't notice the pain. Nor did he notice the sharp sound underneath the table. A latch near the midway point of the old folding lunch table was pushed out of place. The sound it made was lost among the chatter of the many students present in the cafeteria.

* * *

"Looks like your boyfriend isn't feeling well." Barry joked. The others at his table laughed.

Tom turned and looked over at him, seated just two tables away. It wasn't that he tried to sit near their table, it was just that both him and that group liked to sit towards the back of the lunch room. Tom lowered his eyebrows and frowned.

"Shut up. You're an asshole, Barry."

Barry shot up from the table with such sudden force that Tom was taken aback. Barry pushed his arms out, palms open, to the side, and leaned his head forward. "What was that bitch boy?"

Tom backed up a bit, slowly, leaning his hand on the table. "I..."

"Hunh? What did you say? You wanna start something?"

"Kick his ass, man!" Doug interjected, and laughed.

Barry turned his head. "Shut up, I can handle this!"

His intensity was frightening. He started his approach towards Tom, who was standing there, putting all of his weight into the table, pressing force towards the middle fold. The way he leaned back, he looked even shorter than he already was. Just then, a hand grabbed Barry's arm.

"Dude," Eric said, "He's not worth it."

Barry turned and looked at his friend. "I said I handle this," he growled.

"Man, if you don't chill the fuck out, then I will put you down."

Eric gave him a knowing look. He turned back to look at Tom.

"Get the fuck out of here..." Barry waited for a response. Tom continued to stand there. Barry walked towards the boy, and made his point more clear.

"Now!"

Tom breathed in suddenly. He pressed all of his weight into the table one final time. This time, he added more force, as he pushed off, forcing himself forward, as he scurried out of the room. Doug laughed as the skinny boy fled. Barry continued to stand there, his breathing oddly heavy, as though he'd just worked out. Eric was silent.

"That little..." Barry began.

Eric interrupted him. "Tom was right. You are an asshole, Barry."

Barry turned around, and leaned into the table where Tom had been. "That pecker deserved it."

"You could have fucked up everything, man."

"Nothing happened. Everything is cool, okay?"

"Yeah, but we could have all been screwed, thanks to you, shithead."

Doug found this funny. Far too funny. Barry shot a look at him.

His voice rose. "Nothing happened."

"Dude, I said cool it.

Barry was about to say something, but decided against it. For as tall and as well built as he may have been, Eric was decidedly stronger. Barry adjusted his arm, putting his other hand on the table. He pressed into it, pushing at it with greater force than Tom had earlier.

"Alright... alright... I'm calm, now, I'm calm."

Barry adjusted his arm, putting his other hand on the table, putting his full weight on to it.

"Good. Keep it that way."

Barry pushed off from the table, and returned to his seat.

* * *

Tom slowly pushed open the door to the boys restroom.

"Mark? Are you in here?" He called out softly. "It's me, Tom."

There was a moan in response.

He walked along the tile floor until he reached the one stall door which wasn't completely open. He stood just outside of it, not wanting to invade any personal space.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm... fine..." Mark managed a weak response.

"What happen?"

He coughed. "It... it was the cafeteria food, I think."

Tom forced a laugh away as a quick smile. "I told you that stuff was no good. You should pack your own, like I do."

"Yeah..."

The door finally opened the rest of the way, and Mark came out. Saliva and some specks of colored matter hung from his mouth. Tom recoiled for a second.

"Dude, you look awful."

"I feel it."

"Come on."

He lead Mark away from the toilet. Mark barely stumbled along. They moved to the handicapped sink, the only one that could be left on. Tom turned the handle. Water gushed out. Mark pushed his face under it, clearing off the bile and spit from his face. He took some of the water in his mouth, swished it around, spat, and repeated.

"Thanks, Man." He said, as he turned the cold water up, and the hot water down.

"It's no problem."

Mark pushed his head into the sink again, this time running his head and hair through the chilly water. He was still somewhat woozy. He felt some water drip down his face towards his chin. But, it was calming, soothing. He finally removed his head, and walked towards the towel dispenser.

He turned the handle, and began to spool out paper toweling. "Why are you so nice to me?"

Tom was instantly surprised and confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I put you through all this shit, and yet, you're still nice to me. I don't get it." He tore the paper from the end, and began to blot his face.

"Well, why shouldn't I be? You're a good person, everyone really is, deep down. Sure, they may act mean, but you've gotta consider, they have family and friends and stuff, so they must have something good about them. At least, that's what I think. You may have stopped liking me, but I never stopped liking you."

Mark pulled the paper towel away and threw it in the garbage. He looked at Tom, who was smiling. Mark smiled back, and stifled a laugh. They hadn't talked like this in months.

Tom laughed a bit himself. "What's funny?"

"I..." Mark just stared at him, unsure of what to say exactly. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

"Okay." Tom raised an eyebrow and huffed through his nose, still smiling wide.

As if it realized this were the most inopportune moment, the bell rang.

"Shit, I gotta go now." Tom said. "I have to get to my locker, and then tech theatre is on the other side of the school."

"You have tech theatre?"

"Yeah... that's kinda weird, you not knowing my schedule... and me not knowing yours."

It hit Mark. It really was. "Yeah... I had it last semester."

"Really? Quick question then; which should I work with, soundboard or lights?"

"I'd say lights. Soundboard just sucks. When you do lights, you work way up in the catwalks."

"Good to know... gotta move, I'll call you later, okay?"

"Sure thing."

Tom turned and pushed the restroom door. It closed with a slam behind him. A strange feeling suddenly overcame Mark... he couldn't quite explain why, but he almost felt as though that were the last time he would ever see his friend...

* * *

As Tom hauled a stack of papers and folders out of his locker, the bell rang. He was officially late. He moved his hand out as best he could, keeping a thumb on the bottom of the stack to keep balance, and managed to push the door closed. He adjusted his grip, but it wasn't as good as before. He moved out of the locker pod.

The tall stack of papers seemed unsteady, and he cursed the series of classes that were to come. After technical theatre, he had biology, on the same side of the school. In addition to a major paper, he also had a presentation that day, along with multiple hand outs for everyone, overhead laminates, and stuff for his other classes. Really, his problems were more due to a lack of organization than the many projects he had to prepare, but they certainly didn't help the problem.

In order to save time, he opted to cut through the cafeteria, which more or less was the center portal of the school. He entered the room, but found that it was already devoid of students; the last lunch period was the one prior. Already, the custodians had begun to set the tables up into their "folded" positions. Really, it was just that the center legs moved up, and the table was pulled up from the center, somewhat like a drawbridge, forming a sort of pyramid.

However, only half the job had been done... _Typical_, he though. Nor were there any custodians there to finish it. More likely than not, the school's small maintenance staff had been called off to some other job. It was not unusual. A leak in a classroom ceiling once remained only half patched for three days.

He was completely alone in the room, but it was anything but silent. He could hear the sound of the lunch ladies cleaning trays and utensils in the back. Like so many other things in the school, the washing machine was ancient, and made a tremendous noise when it operated. And the lunch ladies talked really loudly. And the dishes clattered together.

Unexpectedly, a gust of wind suddenly blew past him. He looked around, then towards the doors t the courtyard. They were closed. _How could there be wind in here?_ He looked for a fan or something, but saw nothing. Suddenly, the fact that he was late came back into priority. He adjusted his already awkward grip on the stack of papers, and one corner of one side of a folder fell open.

He moved quickly through, towards the back. As he approached the area where he'd sat earlier, he observed that the shoddy job on the tables was even more noticeable here. On one side, tables were up. Directly across from them, they were all down. The tables that had yet to be put up still hadn't even been wiped down... he noticed a spill of tomato sauce on one table.

Just as he reached the table were he sat earlier, a paper slipped out from the folder, floating towards the ground. It sailed gently underneath the opposite, still down table. He muttered a curse. Rather than set his stack down and retrieve the paper, he attempted to get it while still holding everything else. He knelt down slowly, and turned his hand slightly, pushing the pinky and ring fingers out as a sort of claw. Not quite there. He pushed himself closer into the table, his finger tips almost reaching.

Suddenly, there was a snapping sound. He turned his head in time to see the table opposite him, the table where he'd sat earlier, fall open from it's standing position. The side closest to him was not properly locked and subsequently shot out towards him. His mouth opened to scream, but the air was instantly cut off; the edge of the table pushed up against his windpipe, the back of his neck trapped up against the edge of the other table.

He dropped the papers, and started pushing to get himself up. However, as the paper spilled out onto the floor, they covered the entire surface. His hands sought friction, but found only paper, which slid smoothly along the floor. Pushing up was no use, as his arms weren't long enough to push his sternum up and move the table edges away. He gasped frantically for air, but none would come. He pushed his feet, but they too slipped along pages and pages of information.

The table, not yet fully open, continued to apply pressure against his throat. His eyes scanned left and right, but there was no one there. He continued to struggle to bring in air. He felt a strong pressure throughout his face, as it became engorged with blood, turning red. His lungs burned. His eyes were open, but things were quickly turning to a bright white. His movements became slower, less iratic. Finally, they simply stopped. He passed out from a lack of oxygen.

His body convulsed a few times, as though making some final, valiant effort. It was futile. His heart beat faster in an effort to supply oxygen to his body, but there was none. Soon, it slowed, and, finally, stopped.

A shadow rippled across the linoleum floor.


	5. Chapter 3 Instigator

CHAPTER 3

INSTIGATOR

Leslie tapped her nails on the service counter. She continued to stare at the clock on the wall, waiting for it to tick away. 10:47, it read; only thirteen minutes until close. Then she could clean things up, and get home, hopefully, by eleven. She tried to concentrate on something else, but she couldn't stop thinking about the boy who died earlier that day. It was so bizarre; being strangled in between two cafeteria tables. She didn't see the body, but just hearing about it, and thinking of how she'd seen him just an hour or so beforehand, was surreal. Just then, Jenna appeared from the back, and walked up to her.

"Ew... your nails are all... weird," Jenna remarked.

Leslie looked down at her own, then at the other girl's. "Well, yeah, but they aren't much worse than yours."

"I broke one earlier. I have an appointment to get them done on Friday, if you'd want to come along... as long as you promise not to bring your asshole of a boyfriend... and then we could get manicures, and facials, and..."

Leslie interrupted her, "I'd love to, but I have to work... again."

"You never stop working. You need a break." She turned and headed towards the back area. "I'm gonna go clean up the back area, okay?"

Before Leslie could answer, Jenna headed towards the back. She breathed in and out heavily. She'd heard Jenna use the phrase, "clean up the back area," and knew it rarely involved cleaning. The door opened. Leslie sighed, pulled herself up from her resting position, and turned.

"Welcome to Andy's Burgers, may I..." She stopped when she saw who it was. "What do you want?"

"What do you want?" Eric repeated her, "Is that any way to say hi to a customer? Especially one you're dating." He smiled at her. Flanking him were Doug and Barry.

"Why did you bring those idiots with you?"

Doug laughed at the comment.

"Well, we were busy doin' our thing, and I decided I wanted to visit you."

"Is that bitch still here too?" Doug asked.

"Fuck you!" Jenna called out from the back.

Leslie explained, "She's either cleaning up or smoking up. I'm betting on the latter."

Eric reasoned, "Well, if she's not doing any work, you should clock out and come home with me."

"I can't. Would you just leave me alone, please?"

"What's wrong, gorgeous?"

"I... I just have a lot to do. Please, just, let me get done, and I'll call you after, and maybe then we can do something, okay?"

Eric paused, as though he were thinking. "Well, alright. Can I get a kiss?"

Leslie relented, leaned over, and kissed him. Doug mockingly made kissy lips towards Barry, who pushed him away, causing Doug to laugh. Eric grabbed the two by the arms and led them out the door. Leslie returned her attention to the clock. It was finally time.

"Hey Jenna," she called out to the back "It's eleven. I'm gonna start cleaning up here."

Suddenly, someone grabbed her shoulder. She let out a yelp, and turned. Jenna stood there, her eyes bloodshot, laughing about something.

"You don't have to shout, I'm right here," she giggled.

"What the Hell? I told you if you keep this shit up, you're gonna get fired."

"That's only if Bob finds out... and if he thinks he can get a replacement."

Leslie had nothing to say. Jenna was right. "Just help me clean up."

"I can't, I have to meet up with John. I'll see you later!"

Leslie's mouth gaped as Jenna made her way towards the end of the counter. "You can't do this! I have so much to do, I can't be doing this alone again."

"Sorry, duty calls!" She laughed, and exited the restaurant.

"Please!"

It was too late. Leslie put her head down on the counter. She didn't need this right now. Not now. Not after that boy... she just wanted to get home and go to sleep.

* * *

Mark sat in his room, looking over his picture album for the third time. He was gone. He'd known the kid for so long, and now, all of sudden, he was gone. Just like that. Tom was dead.

When he first heard the news, he instantly denied it to himself. It was impossible, since they had just patched things up, and were going to hang out. And he was going to kill him. He wanted his friend to die and recanted, but it happened anyway. That's what hurt the most. He was going to kill Tom, and then Tom ended up dying anyway. He felt as though it were his fault, but he couldn't find any way to place the blame on himself.

At home, he momentarily considered turning one of the guns on himself. But he remembered Krista's words. She was right. Any life was too precious, even his own. Even the life of a cold blooded murderer like himself. He had to remind himself again and again that he didn't kill anyone, that he changed his mind, that he was a good person. But he had trouble believing that.

He realized that he was focusing on the album, and just kept thinking about the problem. He had to put it down, try to think about something else. Although he was planning to take the next day off from school, he decided against it.

_I need to just continue my life._

* * *

The assembly in memoriam of Thomas Bates was taking up a good deal of the school day. Not enough for Leslie. After Jenna ditched her the previous night before, she spent two hours cleaning, then went home and fell immediately asleep. Her Chemistry homework had not been completed, and she scrawled in her notebook furiously, trying to complete the assignment.

Eric sat next to her. He reached his arm down to grab at her thigh. She quickly pushed his hand away. He waited a second, and tried again, with the same result. Again, he grabbed, this time with more force. She pulled his arm up, and slammed it down.

"Ouch! That hurt! What the hell is wrong with you?" She whispered angrily.

"What wrong with you?" He retorted.

"The kid died, don't you give a fuck?"

"Look who's talking. What does potassium oxide have to do with death?"

"Just let me finish this, okay?"

Eric rolled his eyes, and folded his arm. He just didn't understand women, always so moody and emotional. _It's not like she knew the kid, really._

Two seats away, Barry leaned over to Doug, who sat between them, and whispered loudly, "I think his girlfriend's on the rag this week."

The two laughed. Eric slammed a fist down hard on Doug's thigh. For once, Doug stopped laughing, and gasped in pain. Barry instantly stopped; he knew what was going on, and didn't want to make the situation worse. Doug looked at him, and Barry signaled him silently. Doug nodded in understanding.

On stage, Christina approached the podium. "As president of the senior class, I would like to say some words." He delivery was completely flat. "It is terrible that we have lost such a wonderful person. Tim..." Someone beside her hissed something. "Tom was a continuing source of inspiration. But, let us not forget the dic... dic... dic-_toom_ that we are all equal in death's eyes."

Doug and Barry burst into laughter when Christina attempted to pronounce the word "dictum." Eric got up, and slapped Doug in the face.

"What the Hell is your problem?" He shouted.

Christina stopped talking.

All eyes were on them.

A teacher came along and motioned for the three of them to leave. When they reached the aisle, the principal took the stand and gave a short statement about respect, then allowed Christina to continue.

Sean watched as the three jocks were lead away. _Good_ _riddance_, he thought. _Those bastards... can't even respect the dead_. He turned his head, and looked towards the back. Far back. Where no one else was sitting, there sat Mark, looking forward, but not looking upset. The boy yawned and stretched his arms. _He's gotta be feeling it... maybe I should try to be nicer to him. He really never did anything wrong_.

Sean turned his head back to the podium. Thankfully, Christina had given up on the speech he'd written for her. She wasn't even reading everything, and was mispronouncing things left and right. It was lucky that no one other than the principal knew, or he'd look like an idiot.

The next speaker was less than interesting, so he returned his attention to the article he was writing. It regarded school safety, and was set to print in the next issue of the school newspaper. He was contemplating the safety of the tables in the cafeteria, and the response to the situation. The cafeteria was now locked outside of lunch hours, but it didn't seem right to him. _This was just a freak accident, nothing more_. Still, something felt wrong.

* * *

_Thweeeeet!_

Two lines of eager young men charged towards each other, toward the center line. There, arranged in a line, were a series of red rubber inflatable balls. The ensuing melee was short, and once they were all claimed, people backed away quickly. And the game of dodge ball really began.

Mark stayed towards the back of the room, as was his normal strategy. He didn't really care to participate, but didn't want to be out either. Coach Winters was normally annoyed by this strategy, but hadn't said a word so far. Mark yawned; he hadn't slept much the night before. He kept having nightmares about what happened to Tom... and about something that seemed far more sinister.

In the moment of distraction, a ball smacked him on the shoulder. He stood there, motionless.

"Rogers, you're out!" Coach Winters called.

It took him a moment to register what happened. He slowly made his way toward the sideline, head hung down.

"Loser." Eric muttered loudly, as he passed by.

Mark flipped him off.

In what seemed like an instant, Eric had Mark pressed up against a wall. His large hands had Mark's smaller arms in a vice grip, pushing them hard into the wood.

"You fucking..." Eric began, as he removed an arm, clenching the hand into a fist, and rearing it back.

Eric screamed out suddenly, and was pulled away. Coach Winters stood behind him, the boys arm pulled to the back in a lock. Eric tried to move, but the Coach, many times stronger than him, held him fast.

"Get off me!" Eric shouted.

"Son, have you lost your mind?" Winters questioned.

"Look, just because that faggot emo kid lost his boyfriend..."

Something snapped inside the coach. He turned the boy around, and pressed him up against the wall much as Mark had been earlier. Eric's head crashed into the wall with a thud, followed by the rest of his body.

"Listen you little piece of shit. You makin fun of Rogers is one thing. I don't care. But you don't, I repeat, you do NOT make fun of the dead. You need to learn some respect for those who have passed on." He released Eric, who stood, his posture still aggressive. "Get your ass into the storage room, for the rest of the period. If it isn't completely organized by the end of the period, I will make your life Hell. I don't care what kind of superstar you think you are."

Eric grunted. He shot a look at Mark, then made his way out of the gym. Coach Winters looked around. Everyone stood there, staring.

"Get back to the game!" He blew his whistle.

They quickly reorganized themselves. On the floor, Doug pulled Barry to the side.

"Dude... this is not good."

* * *

The storage room had been well organized, for about a week into the school year. After that, it fell into disarray, as was typical. There were rows of shelves and lockers lined up to store various pieces of equipment. There was also a wider open area to store larger equipment: indoor soccer/hockey nets, portable basketball hoops, pitching machines, and archery targets.

When Eric first opened the door, a medicine ball rolled to his feet. He picked it up and placed it on a shelf next to some others. He shouted the word "Fuck," as loudly as he could, then tried to regain his composure. It wasn't his fault that he was here... it was that freak. _Next time I see him, he's dead, the fucker..._ He moved on to pick up some more medicine balls.

In a corner, some badminton birdies sat, collecting dust. He retrieved them, and looked for where to put them. Finally, he settled upon a series of shelves marked, "Recreational Sports." He placed them on the top, between rackets and a bag of bocce balls.

* * *

Mark was more into the game now, more determined, after what happened. He grabbed a ball, threw it wildly, and it went right into an opponents hands. But, he dropped it, and was out. Mark smiled. He grabbed another ball, and again, threw wildly... this one was less lucky, as it bounced out the door. Everyone was too busy laughing at him to notice. He retreated to the back.

* * *

The ball bounced down the hallway. With so much force behind it, it rebounded off a series of walls, finally bouncing into the storage room. It jarred a shelf containing dozens of basketballs. Although the shelving was sturdy enough to stay up, it was shaky, and a few of the balls bounced off. Eric heard the sound, and turned, and found his job becoming more complicated. He ran to retrieve what he could.

One particularly overinflated basketball bounced towards the back. It struck a lever on an automatic pitching machine, which came to life. The motorized arm inside flipped a baseball out. It slammed into the back of Eric's knee. Eric cried out and fell to the ground.

* * *

Mark had, again, gotten a ball. He ran up and threw, but missed. Another person ran up, and slammed the ball into Mark's stomach at point blank range. Mark fell to the ground, the wind knocked out of him.

* * *

Eric huffed rapidly, slowly pulling himself up. Another baseball flew, slamming the back of his head. He collapsed, writhing in pain. Eric shouted for help.

* * *

The shouting in the gym grew to a furor. Barry approached suddenly, and pegged Mark with another ball. Others got the idea, and did the same thing. He was out, but they didn't care. They laughed, shouted, screamed!

"Hit him harder!"

"Peg the freak!"

"Help!" Mark finally shouted.

The coach watched, waiting for the moment he would blow his whistle and intervene.

* * *

Eric whimpered on the floor, as the machine continued to fire. Pain echoed through his head. He stayed down, cautious of getting hit again. He shouted again, hoping someone would hear him. Another baseball fired. It bounced off a wall, and knocked a shelf of footballs. The fell to the floor, rolling and bouncing around, like molecules in liquid randomly bouncing around.

Their movement brought rise to the movement of more balls, which hit other things. A medicine ball rolled into the sole red dubber dodge ball in the room. It rolled slowly away, towards the door. As it was just about out of the partially open door, another baseball shot off. It hit a wall, then knocked the door, closing it with some force. As it closed shut, the door pushed the dodge ball out further into the hallway, away from the storage room.

* * *

The sound of Coach Winters whistle immediately silenced the room.

"That's enough! Rogers, you're out, the rest of you, back to the game." Mr. Winters stated simply.

Mark got off the floor and walked to the sideline to join the others.

On the other side, a student near the door to the hallway noticed the ball roll towards him. He grabbed it, and ran towards the center line, raising it high in the air.

* * *

Eric tried to concentrate, but his head was spinning. He figured he just had to remain down, until the machine ran out of baseballs. Then, he could get up, get to the door, and get out. It fired again, this time disturbing a shelf of volleyballs. They entered into the ensuing chaos.

A volleyball rolled into the leg of the recreational sports shelf. On top, the open bag of bocce balls shimmied off. It fell, and landed squarely in the pitching machine's loading basket. Four brass bocce balls rolled out in with the baseballs. The mechanical arm grabbed one, and started to raise it. However, the weight of the ball was causing it trouble. The machine couldn't handle something so heavy. It hissed and whirred, as the machinery began to overheat. Something inside popped.

Things started to calm down. Gravity and physics took hold, and soon, all the balls in the room stopped moving. The machine had ceased to fire. Eric breathed a sigh of relief, but felt pain as he did it. He put a hand to the back of his head, and brought it to the front. There was only a little bit of blood; he would be fine. He pulled himself up slowly, moving into a kneeling position, supporting himself with his good knee.

The pitching machine finally managed the strength to fire. It hurled the heavy brass ball forward at an incredible speed. Eric looked towards the sound. The ball smashed the front of his face, but unlike the baseball, had the force to continue forward. It shattered his skull, tore through the interor of his head, and exited out the back. Blood and gore sprayed out the back of his head like a fountain. He pitched forward.

The machine finally gave out. That last one was too much for it.

* * *

"Good job, gentlemen. Hit the showers!" 


	6. Chapter 4 Pattern

CHAPTER 4  
PATTERN

* * *

"So, if you just follow the checklist on the back," as Ms. Kennedy mentioned it, she flipped over the sheet she held up, and the class followed, "then you're certain to get an A on this project. Any questions?" 

A hand shot up. "When's it due?"

"Check the front of the sheet and pay attention next time."

The student blushed while others chuckled at his expense. Another hand was raised.

"Do we get to choose our partners?"

Ms. Kennedy smiled. "No." There was a collective groan. "I'll be choosing them for you."

She went through a prepared list. No one seemed to mind the partners they had; she'd selected them well. Everyone was partnered with someone they got along well with.

"Mark Rogers and Rachel Morgan," she mentioned while going through the list.

Mark turned his head simultaneously with Rachel's. He immediately wondered why he had been partnered with her. After all, Ms. Kennedy knew about Tom's untimely death. Therefore, she must have had some very specific reason for partnering the two of them. As Mark pondered the situation, the loud speaker clicked on.

"Hello there everyone, I have a quick announcement." the principal's staticy voice stated. "We've received a terroristic threat on the building, and for this reason, we will be ending classes immediately. Please remain calm, and exit the building quickly. This includes teachers. Thank you."

The school's hallways echoed with cheering.

"Well, the last pairing is Eric and Doug. Do me a favor Doug, when you see Eric at practice, tell him what's going on, and that he's earned a detention for cutting class. You all have your partners, so perhaps you can take this as an opportunity to begin your project early."

Everyone rose and began to file out of the classroom. Mark wanted to take the opportunity to ask Krista why she'd put them together, but as soon as the last person left, she locked the door behind. Now was not the time. He turned and moved away. As he walked down the hallway, Rachel approached him.

"Hey." She said.

"Hey." He replied.

"So... when do you think you'll be free to work on this?"

"I'm not sure... how about later tonight?"

"Alright. Could we meet at your place? My parent's are kind of weird about me having people over."

"Um... sure, that'd be fine."

"Thanks." She smiled, and then sped up her walking, and turned down another hall.

Mark eventually burst through a door to the outside. Police cars were parked along the front, next to the busses. He moved towards his car, but kept his eyes on the scene unfolding by the gymnasium doors. Oddly enough, there was an ambulance, yet there were no firetrucks. Normally all three would be sent together... especially if there were a bomb scare.

The ambulance was parked with it's back right up to the gymnasium doors, obscuring the view. As he walked, he came into a viewing angle where he could almost make out some area of the inside. For a brief second, he glimpsed a stretcher being shoved into the ambulance, just before the doors closed.

A cold feeling took him over. Eric hadn't been in class... not unusual. Strange, however, was the fact that he wasn't in the locker room after gym class ended. Now they were all being sent home, and he could swear that he saw a stretcher going into an ambulance. The feeling passed, just as the ambulance pulled away from the doors, headed towards the exit.

If Eric had somehow died...

He scanned the parking lot, until he found what he was looking for, then got into his car.

* * *

Christina placed the portable barre up against the mirror as close as the base would allow it to go. School had ended early, and practice was canceled. She decided instead to go to her dance studio and take some time to practice. This was the perfect time for her, as she was assured studio space; the place would be empty. She leaned on the barre, putting too much weight into it, and it tipped forward a bit. She reduced her impact, and set into her stretches. 

The barre had been placed directly in front of the mirror, so that she could pay careful attention to her positioning. At one point, she caught her feet rolling in slightly, and adjusted them, cursing herself for making an amateur mistake. She then noticed her hips bulging slightly more than they seemed to have been a few days before. _The mirror here... it probably isn't as good as the one in my room... it's so big, it makes everything else look big_. Still, her thoughts wandered to a dinner of diet coke and celery.

When she was satisfied that she had stretched enough, she began to warm up. She started at the barre, and eventually moved on to center practice, and then began moving across the floor. Soon she was sweating. She wanted to immediately start on her routine, but realized she was thirsty.

She walked out of the room, down the hallway to the refrigerator. She opened it, and removed a water bottle that she had placed in earlier. It dripped with condensation. She pressed it up against her head and enjoyed how it felt, before opening it, tipping it back, and drinking deep. She closed the door and returned to her studio.

She placed the water bottle down on the marley, and walked over to the CD player that sat in the corner. As she passed by the window, she noticed a shadow outside and below... someone hiding by a bushy evergreen. She squinted, and then realized who it was. Mark Rogers. She immediately pulled at the window. It was only an inch up when she lost her grip, and it dropped back.

"Fucking window," she cursed aloud.

She tried again, putting much more effort into it. The window finally raised up. She let go, and it slid down a little, but remained stable. She leaned her head out.

"Hey!" She shouted.

He looked up intently. She'd gotten his attention. Above her, the window shook slightly. The building was ancient. It's double sash windows used an old style pulley system, where counterweight pulleys inside the walls helped to support the open windows. But time had worn the ropes on the pulleys thin.

"Yeah, I saw you. What the hell are you doing here, freak?"

Mark just looked at her, unsure of what to say.

"If you don't get out of here now, I'm calling the cops!"

He apparently got the message, as he scurried off. Christina huffed, and moved away from the window, back to the CD player. She set it to track 7 and walked to the center of the room.

A cold wind blew in through the window.

* * *

_I'm just imagining things... _Mark though. _I must really be crazy. She's fine. Nothing is going to happen. It's all a coincidence. There's no way..._

His thoughts were interrupted as he pulled into the driveway and noticed Rachel sitting on the front step. She looked up at him, smiling.

"Where were you?" She called as he got out of the car.

"I was..." He wasn't exactly sure why she was there. "I just had some things to do."

"Oh, okay. Did you still want to work on our project tonight?"

_Oh yeah!_ "Sure, that's fine." She moved out of his way as he walked up to the door and unlocked it. "Were you outside for very long?"

"Just ten minutes or so."

He pushed the door open, and walked inside, Rachel shortly behind him. "Sorry about that. My parents don't get done work till late."

"No, it's fine." She walked into the living room and set her book bag down on the table. "So, let's get started."

* * *

This would be the first time Leslie ever missed a day of work since she began her job. When she arrived home, there was a message on her answering machine, from Eric's parents, asking her to call immediately. Mrs. Bowman ended up being the one to give her the news. 

Leslie forced herself to not cry. She had decided long ago that crying was just going to make her weak, and that it was better to just feel sad without going into hysterics. Instead, she called into work, explained why she would not be in, and spent some time watching TV. She then prepared dinner for her and her mother, and went back to the television. Her mother came home, ate, drank, drank, and drank, then went to sleep. Leslie started her homework.

She was having difficulty. The subject material wasn't anything she didn't understand. Instead her problem came from the fact that Eric had died so strangely. Mrs. Bowman hadn't given her any details, but simply said that he died in an accident in the gym storage room.

_A freak accident_.

_The second freak accident_.

It seemed ridiculous, if not downright impossible. First someone dying in the cafeteria... not even in the back, where there were knives, and machines, and all those things, but in the main area, where anyone could have walked in, because of a malfunctioning table. Now, someone else had died in the gym storage room... no telling what was back there, but it couldn't have been anything too dangerous. _Maybe he slipped on baseball? And cracked his head on the concrete?_ That was the closest she had come to a plausible explanation.

_Tomorrow, I'll go to the library and research it. I'm going to find out why this happened._

She then realized how odd a thought that was.

After all, this was a freak accident.

Why should there be a _why_?

* * *

"You like the Smiths?" Rachel said, noticing a poster for the band up on the wall. 

"Yeah, they're really great." Mark had no idea what to say. "So, we're off to a pretty good start. Maybe tomorrow night we could do some more work?"

"Do you have other plans?"

"Well, sort of." The entire time, Mark had been worried about Christina. Even though he'd told himself he didn't need to be, he still was. All he wanted to do was to go check on her, just to be sure she was alright. He didn't even known why he cared... after all, she was never nice to him. But, he did care.

"What, like, a girlfriend?"

"No, no, I don't have a girlfriend."

"Oh, cool." Christina turned away so he couldn't see her smiling. "So then..."

"Uh, I have to use the bathroom. I'll be right back."

"Oh, okay."

Mark got up from his bed and walked out of the room. He headed downstairs and into the kitchen. He quickly searched through the yellow pages, until he found the dance studio where he'd followed her to earlier. He picked up the receiver, and dialed the number.

The phone rang a few times. Finally, it was picked up. "Dance Dimesions, this is Christina, how can I help you?" It was her. He exhaled, hung up the phone, then quietly made his way back upstairs, hoping Rachel hadn't heard him go downstairs the first time. As he opened the door to his room, he saw Rachel in front of his dresser. She turned around suddenly, a piece of paper in her hand.

Her face was white.

"I... I can explain!"

* * *

Christina set the water bottle down in the middle of the floor and walked out into the hallway. She hurried to the front office, and grabbed the phone. She was one of the few people authorized, and therefore required, to answer any phone calls. 

"Dance Dimensions, this is Christina, how can I help you?"

She heard a faint noise, and then the phone hung up.

"Hello? Hello?" No reply. "Fuck."

She slammed the receiver down and walked back out into the studio. She picked up the bottle, took another sip, then went and put it back down with the rest of her things. She searched through her bag until she found another shirt, which she used to wipe of the excess condensation from the bottle. She then went to the CD player, reset it, and began her routine. After a series of typical cheerleader flips and cartwheels and other such gymnastic feats, she set into a series of jetes from the far corner. With each leap, she pushed harder, going farther.

Just then, the old window gave up it's grip, and slammed down. The sound of the crash and the shattering glass came mid-air, surprising Christina. She landed wrong, hurtling forward a bit. One foot caught the condensation from the water bottle and slid frictionlessly along.

She noticed the portable metal barre, and reached for it. She grabbed out, but her hands only succeeded in pressing on it, tipping it forward, smashing it into the wall mirror. She slipped downward, her entire body parallel to the wall. The barre tipped backwards, and slammed down, next to her.

"Shit... that hurt." She said to herself.

The crack in the section of mirror spread across it's entire length, on an upward angle, creating a hilly ledge for the new top half. The wooden planks across the bottom and top of the mirror simply held it against the wall by pressure, not being physically attached. The top portion slipped down and out, away. It was heavy, and landed with great force.

The sharp edged mirror split Christina evenly in half lengthwise.

On one side, her eye twitched a little. On the other, there was no movement. Blood began to pool out from underneath her.

A shadow rippled across the reflective side of the mirror.


	7. Chapter 5 Revelations

CHAPTER 5

REVELATIONS

* * *

Doug and Barry stood at their lockers silently, having just received the news. Barry's own locker had a new fist shape dent in it, to add the three he'd made previously. Doug still laughed when it happened, but shut up quickly. 

"So... without Eric, what are we going to do about the drugs?" Doug wondered.

Barry snorted, and moved towards him, menacingly. "Listen, we will find a way to take care of things."

"What if they do an autopsy? Will they find it in his system?"

"I... I don't know. But, regardless, that just shows he was doin' it, not you or me."

"But then they'll test the whole team, and we're all screwed."

"We're not screwed. Besides, I know where he was getting the stuff, so we'll be okay."

"But what if we're not?"

Barry slammed his fist into the locker again, creating yet another dent.

"Don't fucking question me."

He stared Doug down, then finally moved away. When he got far enough away, Doug cracked up.

* * *

"It happened." 

Mark turned away from his locker. Rachel was staring him down. He stood silent, knowing already what she meant.

"She died."

The words were expected, but still chilling.

After a pause, he asked, deadpan, "Do you think I did it?"

"No. The newspaper said the body was found around six."

"I could have done it beforehand."

"I know that. But I still don't think you did it. Besides, they called it a 'freak accident,' and to be honest, I've been hearing too much of that lately."

"What does that mean?"

* * *

"Freak Accident," didn't pull up anything particularly interesting. Leslie tried again, this time pluralizing it. If she had looked up at the "Helpful Hints from the Librarians," sign above the computer, she might have noticed a statement about wild cards. She never bothered to read it, for the same reason she'd been a zombie in all of her classes leading up to the study hall period: thoughts of Eric and Christina were consuming her. 

Of course, most people still didn't know about Eric's death; the school had managed to keep the local media quiet about it, out of respect toward the family. Christina's strange accident had been all over the news, however, and Leslie caught it while she was mindlessly flipping through the channels at home the night before. She had no internet of her own, and had to do her research in the library. So far, things were uneventful.

She tried multiple phrases, "series," "deaths," "freak accidents," "mysterious." The second page of results brought up something which caught her eye. There was a news article, from just a few months prior, regarding the death of a young man by decapitation. His was the fourth in a series of unusual deaths being suffered by the survivors of a tragic plane explosion.

Leslie knew it could only be referencing one particular accident, as it made big news at the time. She remembered the name of the airline, and typed that in, along with "explosion." It brought up a number of news articles which referenced "Flight 180."

She used the flight number, and eventually found her way to a memorial page dedicated to a group of high school students and a teacher who had died on the flight. Oddly enough, at the bottom of the page were an additional three students, and a teacher, all of whom had varying dates underneath their photos indicating when they died. She yawned, then went back to searching.

Suddenly, her skin prickled. She could almost swear she was being watched, as though something were nearby. She turned her head. Sean Walker, sitting at another computer nearby, glanced away suddenly. She scowled, turned her head back, and turned the monitor slightly askew so that, if he were looking, what she was doing wouldn't be visible.

Sean had been looking at her. Well, at her computer, at least. He was somewhat shocked when he glanced over and saw the Flight 180 memorial page come up on her computer. After all, he had discovered the same page just a few minutes before.

This wasn't the first time he'd looked at the page. He'd had an interest in the story when it first came out. The idea of a group of people narrowly escaping one disaster, only to end up dying in a series of bizarre events, was just too odd for him to not follow. The last he had heard of it was a small, page 7 article a few months later, noting that FBI investigation into the case resulted in nothing, and the case was closed.

And now, a third death had struck their school. Unlike most of the students, he already knew the fate of Eric Bowman. In explicit detail. His knowledge was the result of his own personal investigation, meaning hiding in the school bathroom, sneaking into the gymnasium, and picking the lock on the storage room door. Somehow, he narrowly avoided getting caught and suspended.

The series of strange deaths reminded him of the story he'd followed so well. Now, here he was, staring at the pictures of four people who all died in completely inexplicable ways. _Is this a pattern? If there were four before, will there be one more?_

_And why is she researching the same thing as me?_

He leaned backwards in his chair slightly.

A crack in one of the legs, which had been slowly widening over time, started to creep up towards the seat. Just a few feet behind him, a metal hook, intended to hold a bag containing an audio book, pointed directly at the back of his head.

* * *

There was an explosion. 

A small flume of dark smoke drifted out of the test tube. Mrs. Cumming frowned, and walked over to the table where it came from. She pushed Doug and Barry out of the way. Their test tube contained the same potassium solution as everyone else's, yet it also contained a wooden splint. She turned and glowered at them.

"So, who did it?"

Both were silent.

"I mean it. If you don't tell me, you're both in deep trouble."

At that moment, Doug suddenly burst out laughing. Barry sighed. Mrs. Cumming turned her attention instantly to Doug. The bell rang.

"Okay then. Mr. Mulder, you can stay after and finish the experiment. Class dismissed!"

Doug stopped laughing, and sat down on one of the stools. The rest of the students began to gather their things and hurry out the door, ready for lunch time.

"You're an idiot," Barry said simply, before walking away to get his stuff.

On his way out, he turned and looked at Doug. Doug was already smiling about something, ready to laugh at any moment. _At least he's takin' the blame._ He pulled the lower half of the wooden splint out of his pocket and dropped it in a wastebasket before leaving.

* * *

The flame swiveled back and forth in the slight breeze. John applied it to the joint, and when it just started to burn, he pulled it away. He took a puff, inhaled it and held it in, and passed it to Jenna. His lungs burned. His head started to feel empty, thanks to the lack of oxygen. Finally, a feeling of euphoria came over, and he let go. 

His next breath satisfied his body's craving for oxygen. When Jenna moved the joint away from her mouth, he moved up to her quickly and pressed his against hers. She pushed him away playfully.

"Wait a sec," she laughed. "Lemme do this first."

"Alright, baby." It sounded sleazy.

She took a puff and held it in herself. As soon as she let it out, he moved over to her. He grabbed her and placed his lips on her own. The two proceeded to make out, hidden only on one side by a stone column, with air on two sides and a large, voyeuristic window on the other. When their lips released, she looked him straight in the eyes.

"Maybe we should get back inside... it's been a while. They're gonna know we're not in the bathroom."

"Don't worry baby, every thing's gonna be alright. Let's have some fun first, okay?"

She thought for a second, then smiled, mischief in her eyes. "Alright."

He growled at her, and pressed her roughly up against the window, applying force to the old glass.

* * *

Mark and Rachel sat hidden in an alcove on the third floor of the buildings entryway stairwell. The building was, for the most part, only two floors. However, the auditorium, located next to the entrance, had stadium style balcony, and a spotlight booth, which required a third floor entrance. Still, it was rarely, if ever, used, providing the perfect place for cover. 

"So, we're in agreement" Rachel asked.

Mark replied, "I guess so."

"Good. So, the question becomes, what do we do? Is it our job to try to protect these people, or..."

"It's not our job," he cut her off. "It's _my_ job. I mean, I should. I think I should be trying to save them now."

"That's noble of you, but I'm not leaving you to do it on your own. It's going to be easier if I help you."

"Fine." He paused "So... do we tell them?"

"I think we should. I mean, it's better that they know. Right"

"Well, yeah. At least, well, if they can maybe save themselves then, or something."

"Right. I think."

"Why do we keep saying I think?"

Rachel already knew the answer. "Because we just don't know." Mark nodded. "So then, let's split up, and try to find him first. Then we can tell the others."

The two stood up, and headed down the stairs. Rachel went out through the second floor entrance, while Mark continued on to the first floor.

* * *

John's back was now against the window, as he leaned into it, moaning. He squirmed back and forth. There was a slight creaking sound from the metal that held the glass. He'd become louder now, and didn't hear it. 

Suddenly, there was a bang. The door nearby flew open. Rachel's head shout out, looking side to side. Jenna screamed and pulled away from her kneeling position. Her sudden departure caused John extreme pain, as he grabbed his crotch, half because of the pain, half to hide it. He fell forward, away from the mirror.

Rachel recoiled at the sight. Then she moved back inside.

_He's not here. Have to keep looking._

* * *

_There's too much text on this page_, Sean thought to himself, as he continued to read the lengthy web page. His one ankle precariously balanced him, while the other tapped out a rhythm to a song that wasn't even in his head. He felt uncomfortable, and started to move a foot up, to rest it on the computer table. 

There was some banging towards the front. Sean became distracted, and he kicked, pushing his weight backwards. He started pushing backwards, towards the rack hook. At that moment, the chair broke, sending him down instantly instead of further back. A librarian put her finger to her lips, shushing him.

In the front, another librarian helped Mark up. He'd run into the library and directly into a fake potted plant. He thanked her, looked around briefly, and then ran from the room.

* * *

Doug huffed. The potassium solution wasn't coming together right. He turned the Bunsen burner down, and walked to the front of the room. 

"Mrs. Cummings?" He called her attention.

"Yes Doug, what is it?" She asked.

"The... um, mixture isn't doing what it's supposed to. I think."

"Did you add the nitrate?"

Doug thought back to earlier in the class. Mrs. Cummings had earlier demonstrated the potential of silver nitrate to leave nasty black staining on a person's skin. As such, he poured a good deal of it on someone's hand when they were looking. The rest went down the drain, so that he could claim he'd added it all to the test tube. They didn't notice... yet.

"I used my nitrate earlier. Is there any more?"

"In the storage room" Mrs. Cummings considered her options: having him come to the storage room with her, where he might do god knows what; having him wait outside the locked classroom, where he might just end up leaving; or... "Alright, sit down at your desk, and don't move until I get back, alright?"

"Yes Mrs. Cummings."

She got up, and walked to the door.

"And don't let anyone in, alright?"

"Got it."

As soon as she left, she locked the door, and looked in. He was sitting at the desk, doing nothing. She breathed in and out deeply, and headed towards the storage closet.

When Doug realized she was gone, he hurried to the station at the front of the room, nearest the door, where he had the best chance to hear if she were coming back. He turned the methane valve to a point where he could just barely hear the gas escaping. Then, he opened the lower drawer, and started rummaging through things. When he found the tube for the Bunsen burner, started to rub it with a loose wire from a tube rack.

Even though he'd set his own Bunsen burner to a low flame, the mixture was beginning to reach a rapid boil.

* * *

Mrs. Cummings rounded the corner with a bottle of silver nitrate in her hands. Just then, Mark ran right into her, knocking them both over, and causing the nitrate bottle to fall and open up, splashing them both with the substance. 

"Oh, I'm sorry..."

"You..." Mrs. Cummings retained her anger. "There's no running in the hallways for a reason."

"I know, and I'm really sorry, but..."

"No buts. Principals office, now."

"But I can't, I have to..."

Mrs. Cummings was fed up. "Fine then, I'm taking you there myself, _now_."

Mark realized it was useless to try anymore. He walked in the way she was coming from, the teacher following closely behind.

Mrs. Cummings though, _He'll be okay alone in there for a few more minutes._

* * *

Doug finally noticed the strange sound that was coming from his lab table. He looked up from the open drawer he was rummaging through. There in the back, something was happening with his experiment. He got up and walked over to take a closer look. The mixture inside the test tube was bubbling. He leaned over to view it better. 

"What the Hell?" He chuckled.

Finally, the intensity of the heat in the confines of the test tube became too great. The mixture fired up, splashing the solution and pieces of potassium on him. It burned, badly. He screamed, in surprise and pain, but then realized it wasn't that bad. He moved quickly to the front of the room, to the emergency showed.

He pulled the handle for the shower. Nothing happened. The stuff on him continued to burn, although it was cooling down. Still, Doug didn't want to take any chances. He pulled again, still nothing. A third time, as hard as he could. Finally, water showered out.

As soon as the water hit the potassium, an intense chemical change began. The potassium, unstable and seeking stability, instantly bonded with the falling H2O. The oxygen molecules bound themselves to the potassium, creating a more stable bond, while at the same time releasing flammable hydrogen gas. The heat from the chemical bonding was so intense, that it ignited the gas.

There were a series of explosions all over Doug's clothing, as the chemicals reacted. He jumped away from the shower, remembering finally the violent reaction of potassium with water. Now, he was actually on fire. Parts of his clothing burned where the potassium had been. It wasn't particularly serious, but just seeing the flames caused him to freak out.

He hurried towards the door, but before he made it, he tripped on the drawer he'd left open previously. His head banged a stool, and he went down. He slowly started to move himself up, dizzy now. He reached around on the table for something to grab. When he found something to hold onto, he pulled, hard, lifting himself up.

At the same time, his hand, which had grabbed the valve for the methane, pulled the valve open completely. The gas shot out, and the methane combusted when it hit the small fires that dotted his shirt and pants. The combustion caused a reaction with the methane gas that was already floating in the air, thanks to his earlier fooling around.

He was now completely enveloped in flame. He panicked, and hurried again towards the door, but again tripped on the drawer, and again fell, slamming his head into the stool, again. This time he was down. He tried to will his body to move, but his brain was having a difficult time between the incoming signals of pain and confusion caused by the two successive blows to his skull.

He lay there, twitching, and smoldering.

-x-x-x-

"Shit." The student said, putting his sandwich down. He picked his hand back up, and looked at it. There was a large black spot on the back.


	8. Chapter 6 Reality

CHAPTER 6

REALITY

* * *

The words, "life or death," were the turning point. Until then, when Jenna got the call from Mark regarding an "important meeting," she couldn't have cared less. Today was filled with appointments; getting her nails and hair done, going to the tanning salon, the spa, and later smoking up with her boyfriend. Only yesterday had she learned that the school would be closed for the next three days, due to some sort of investigation into the recent deaths. The appointments, however, had been made weeks in advance.

Despite the importance of those three pivotal words, her immediate response was, "Will this take more than a half hour?"

"No. It'll be real quick, I swear." He'd replied. "It's very important."

"Okay, fine, I'll go."

"But, wait… you have to bring John. He needs to hear this too."

She made a right and pulled into the driveway. John was waiting for her, with a big, goofy smile on his face. She knew what that meant.

"Hey baby," he said as she rolled down the window "I think I wanna drive. Ya know" He nodded his head. His eyes were blazing red.

"Have you been smokin' up?" She asked.

He chortled.

"Then give me some!"

John pulled the bag out of his pants pocket. Jenna pushed her door open and moved into the passenger seat. He handed her the bag as he moved into the car and took the wheel. As they drove along, she took a few hits. Eventually, her head moved down, out of sight. John sighed, and smiled.

* * *

Sean was wide eyed, as he stepped on the brakes. His car slowed to a halt in the driveway, and he fixed his eyes on the girl sitting on the porch. Leslie looked at him, but without the same reaction. He got out of the car, wanting to rush, but being careful not to seem too eager. The memory of what he had seen yesterday in the library came back to him... and now she was here.

"Hey..." Leslie offered.

"Hey." It was all he could come up with.

"Um… do you know what's going on?" Leslie asked.

Sean stumbled. "I, uh, got a phone message, saying they needed to talk to me about what's been going on. And you?"

"Same thing... they said they knew why... why Eric... you know."

She didn't look like she normally did... Sean's was at a loss for words for once, and could only think that she 'looked like Hell.' But, without so much makeup, for what she had been through, she didn't look bad... he shook his head, and then turned away, not sure of what to say. Leslie, on the other hand, was sure that she had nothing to say; just lots of questions.

After a pause, "Yesterday, when we were in the library, I saw what you were looking at."

"So you _were_ spying on me. Why?"

"I didn't mean to. I just looked and saw that you were looking at the same thing I was."

"You were researching Flight 180 too?"

There was a loud roaring from down the street. They turned their heads, as a screech rang out, a sporty car quickly turning a corner. It blasted down towards the house, turning tight again, before finally slamming to a stop in the driveway. Barry stepped out of the car and approached them. He looked angry, but more so than usual.

"Hey there Leslie. What's this fuck doin' here?" He asked as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Watch your mouth." Sean retorted.

"Make me."

"Well then…"

The door opened. Mark stood in the doorway. "Come on inside," he said.

* * *

Leslie tapped her fingers on the couch. "This is an odd group you've assembled."

"Leslie and John are supposed to be here too…" Rachel noted.

"Do they know?" Barry suddenly asked.

They all looked at him. "Do we know what?" Leslie asked.

"Not asking you Leslie, asking freak boy and his girlfriend."

"No they don't." Mark answered. "And we're not going to tell them."

"Well if you aren't going to tell us anything, then why are we here?" Sean interrupted.

"No, it's not that. I told Barry something different because I didn't think he'd show up. Everything important will be explained. "

"Well then why the fuck am I here?" Barry yelled, suddenly getting up.

"Because it's important, and it has to do with you and…"

"Screw you. I'm out. I have better things to do than hang out with you freaks. Come on Leslie, let's get out of here."

"Calm the roid rage, Barry." Rachel suddenly said. She looked at him, nodded, then looked at the other two, raising her eyebrows.

Sean and Leslie both turned their heads to look at them. Leslie suddenly felt foolish, never having realized it about her own boyfriend. Now, it seemed so obvious.

"You said you weren't going to tell them. You…" Barry had nothing. "You're lucky you're a chick. I don't hit chicks."

"And here I figured spousal abuse was a part of your future." Sean added.

Barry suddenly started after him, but Leslie got in his way.

"Sit down, now." Her eyes burned into his.

He complied with her demands, and sat down. But, he wasn't done talking. "So, tell me why we're here now then, or I'm leaving."

"Then leave." Rachel told him.

"No, he can't. I don't want him to." Mark overruled her. "I'll explain, but I'm just going to have to explain it again later. You're here because you're all going to die."

Leslie's and Sean's eyes widened. Barry chuckled.

"A few days ago, I brought some guns to school in my car. I was planning to kill all of you..."

"You sick fuck..." Barry suddenly interrupted. "I should have figured. So you're gonna kill us all now, huh? You been killin everyone else too?" He rose again. starting towards Mark.

Mark gulped. His legs shook. But he remained firm. "No." Barry stopped inches from. "Sit down, and let me finish." Barry just stared at him, then turned, and sat down. "Look, you guys made my life Hell for years. None of you know what it's like to be complete outcasts. I really couldn't take it… but, I was smarter than that. I figured out how stupid it was, and nothing I can say is gonna make it clear how sorry I am. None of you deserve to die. But, that's the thing… everyone who's died in the past few days was someone I was planning to kill."

"So, what, you're a warlock now? Killing us all with magic?" Barry was amused by such an idea.

Leslie could feel her skin crawl. The newspaper articles she'd read flash back into her brain. "Barry, shut the fuck up, now." She glared at him, and he backed down. "Okay, okay… so, how do you know it's just not a weird coincidence? How do you know we're going to die too?" She knew it wasn't a coincidence, but was hoping for some rationale.

Mark held up a piece of paper, a blank sheet of white facing the group. "I know because of this."

"A blank piece of paper?" Sean asked.

"It's not blank… there's writing on the other side. I didn't want to show any of you… unless you really want to see. This is a list I made the night before I was going to kill everyone… it lists the names of everyone I intended to kill that day, and the order I wanted them to die in. It's been one hundred percent accurate so far."

Barry snorted. "This is a joke."

"It's not, it's happened before…" Sean explained. "I was reading about it… this kid, he had a psychic vision of his plane exploding. So, he and some of his friends got off, and then the plane really did explode. But, a few months later, the survivors started dying in these freak accidents that no one could explain… it was like… like…" Sean paused, but finally had to say it "It was like death was after them, killing them because they should have died."

"So… Norman Bates there had a vision? Now you're a psychic psycho!"

"I didn't have a vision, there was no vision... well, I mean, I had a dream, but..." Flustered, Mark spoke faster, "Look, I don't understand it. All I know is, this list says Tom, Eric, Christina, Doug, J..."

Leslie, Sean, even Barry leaned in. Mark lowered his eyes.

"So, who is it?"

They were interrupted by loud banging on the front door, and laughter coming from the other side.

* * *

"This is what you dragged me out here for? Jesus Christ, and I thought I was high. Ooh, death is after us, I'm SO scared!" Jenna laughed harder.

"We're just trying to help!" Rachel insisted. "We never had to tell you. But maybe now you have a chance"

Leslie got up and walked to Jenna. "Listen, I believe them. And I think you should too... one of you two is next. So you have to be careful."

"Yeah? Hunh? Really?" She stepped up to Mark, getting in his face. "So, who is it? Me or my boyfriend?"

Mark looked down. "Do you really want to know?"

Jenna slapped him. Mark's head shot right, then reset. He looked at her. She started laughing again.

"Fuck you." She turned to Leslie. "And fuck you." Her expression changed to one of fear, but quickly resumed a wicked smile. She turned to the rest. "And fuck you, and fuck you, and fuck you." She turned to John. "Let's go."

John smiled, laughed, and walked with her, arm in arm, out the door.

Barry got up from his seat. "She's a crazy bitch, but she's right. Leslie, if you really believe him, then you're more fucked up than he is. I'm gone." He turned around and walked out through the still open door, slamming it behind him.

No one said anything. Then, finally, Sean spoke up. "I believe you too."

"So, what do we do now?"

"We watch out for each other."

* * *

John opened the door for her, and as Jenna stepped into the shop, it felt like she was in the tropics. The weather outside was brisk, but in here, it was excessively hot. She quickly took off her light jacket. A young, slim, Asian girl approached.

"Hello there Jenny!" She said, mispronouncing Jenna's name, as always.

"Hi Keiko. Why's it so goddamned hot in here?"

"Oh, there's a big problem with the heater, we don't know, it's malfunctioning we think. Who knows, maybe it will explode." She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.

Although Jenna had expressed a lack of interest at the earlier meeting, the comment made her cringe. For a moment, she considered leaving, but she reassured herself that everything was alright. "Great. Can we get started?"

"Of course. Tou want pedicure first, right?"

"Yeah, sure." She turned to John. "Sit."

John obeyed. Jenna moved to one of the vibrating massage chairs and sat in it as Keiko walked to the back. She removed her shoes, then placed her feet into the attached tub. The warm water felt cooler than the air around her. She could feel sweat begin to form on her brow.

"Keiko, do something to make it cooler, okay?"

"Yes, okay!" Keiko called.

She rolled out the cart with her supplies over to the chair, then went over to one of the manicure tables. She removed a small rotary fan from the table, and brought it over. The fan was placed on top of the cart. Keiko plugged it in, then turned it up to blow into Jenna's face. The small fan was intended to dry nails, but the breeze was sufficient. Jenna pulled the massage selection pad from the side of the chair, choose the fast, basic massage, then set the pad on the armrest.

"That better?"

"Sure.

Keiko went about her work, soaking the feet, cutting the nails and filing them. She then pulled out the bottle of antiseptic, dousing the cuticle cutter with it, and Jenna's feet, before placing it back and going to work.

John was beginning to sweat as well. He felt bored. And thirsty. "Hey, can I get, like, some water or something?"

"Oh, okay. There's a refrigerator under the desk. Get one there. It's free, because it's hot."

"Thanks."

"And while you're up honey, gimme a cigarette, I need a smoke." Jenna indirectly commanded him.

"Jenna, I have told you, you cannot smoke..."

"When it's hot, I need to smoke. Can you fix the heater _now_?" Timid Keiko didn't reply. "Alright then."

John approached her, pulling cigarette from his "normal," pack and handing it to her along with a lighter, then went to the refrigerator. He opened the door, removed the bottle of water, took a sip, and returned to his chair.

Jenna pulled her right arm up, off of the massage selection pad, and lit the cigarette. The pad began to slowly move forward with the vibrations of the chair. Jenna dropped the lighter into her lap and took a drag. She switched the cigarette over to her right hand, and returned her left arm down, keeping the right aloft. She carelessly flicked the ashes downward. A few fell onto the selection pad and bounced off as it continued rumbling forward.

John felt restless in the chair. Between all the driving, and the time here now, his body ached a bit. He slid down in the chair, angling his body, then turned so his legs hung over one arm, his upper back over the other. To entertain himself, he inserted the top of the water bottle into his mouth. He tilted his head back, using his tongue to block the water flow. He moved his tongue slightly, allowing some water into his mouth. An air bubble flew up from the top of the bottle to the bottom. He was slightly entertained by the display, and even though it was difficult to swallow the water, it was worth it.

The selection pad rumbled forward, a mere inch away from the edge of the armrest, which which was situated directly above the edge of the water bath. Keiko removed her hands to get a buffer bar, as Jenna returned her foot to the water, soaking them both. Jenna flicked more ashes away. One red hot ash floated slowly down into the bottle of antiseptic. The alcohol ignited, and flared up, flames coming out of the top of the bottle like a mini volcano.

Startled, Jenna cried out, and she reacted by throwing her hand out, then running it along the armrest, ready to pull herself away. Her hand pushed the massage selection pad forward, and it fell downwards. It smacked the edge of the water bath, tilted, and slid down the side, before landing on the carpet below.

Jenna's reaction caused John to inhale, bringing water down his air pipe. He launched his upper body up, turning to stand up, but his awkward position caused him to fall down. _Oh my god, it's real!_ Jenna thought. She got out of her chair, dropped her cigarette, and hurried over. She helped him up, then began smacking him in the back, hard. He coughed. She smacked him some more. Finally, the water came up, a minute amount, and spilled on the carpet.

"I'm alright," he said regaining his composure.

Jenna was relieved. John sat back down in the chair, and smiled at her.

"See? Everything's okay."

She smiled. Keiko smiled too. She then realized that the bottle of antiseptic was still burning. She grabbed it, and ran to the sink in the back to dump it out.

Jenna walked back to the chair to resume the pedicure. Then, her foot came down on the still lit cigarette. She screamed, lifting it up, hopping forward. However, she tripped, falling forward, down to the water bath. One hand instinctively reached forward to cushion her fall. The other reached out, grasping for the arm of the chair. The first arm fell into the water bath, hitting the bottom, then bending slightly as her torso fell against the edge of the bath. The other arm found Keiko's supply cart and grabbed it, pulling forward.

The small fan sitting on the cart came forward, the power cord trailing behind, and splashed into the water. Immediately, voltage coursed through her. Smoke started to rise from on top of the water. Jenna jolted and lurched. Her skin began to turn bright red, stretching, almost to the point of breaking. Blood oozed from her sweat glands, and drool leaked from her mouth. John watched in shock, now sitting completely upright, legs on the seat, gripping himself tight.

Keiko heard the noise, turned. As soon as she saw what was happening, she ran to the circuit breaker and pulled it.

The noise stopped. Everything was dark. John began to scream.


End file.
